Holding On
by yumi michiyo
Summary: Keeping a secret is harder than it seems. Miroku/Sango with spoilers for manga chapter 488.


Written for the **mirsan_fics** LJ community for the prompt Hold. Contains shades of manga chapter 488 [Joint second place]

* * *

Miroku winced, pushing himself to his feet by a massive effort of will. His insides still felt weak; that was some potent poison he had drank.

_He would do anything for her._

"How are you feeling?"

His throat felt raw. "I'm feeling better." It was true to some extent: the constant pain in his right hand was gone but the entire appendage felt numbed and dead.

"Though it sounds like a lie," he muttered under his breath.

The old youkai managed a thin smile. "Sounds like the one over there seems to have come through the same."

The monk turned around eagerly. "Sango!" he called.

"Houshi-sama."

She was climbing out of the jar, Hiraikotsu clutched firmly in her hands. A powerful wave of relief swept over him and forgetting his pain, he walked over to her, leaving his shakujou lying in the grass.

Sango was walking quickly to him at the same time, mixed emotions on her face. They met halfway; each just glad to see the other. The monk hoped the anxiety he still felt did not show.

Miroku smiled and nodded to the bone in her arms. "Your Hiraikotsu..."

"Fixed."

His eyes swept up and down her slender frame. She appeared unharmed – no serious wounds or anything of the sort – but the disheveled look of her armor suggested she had not had an easy time in there. Miroku offered a silent prayer of thanks to the kamis for protecting her when he could not.

"You managed to subdue the demons?"

She blushed then; he was surprised to see the colour rising into her face. Belatedly, Miroku realized she was pale from exhaustion.

"Yes," Sango whispered, dropping her gaze. Her reticence was unusual, even for her: the monk guessed something must have happened inside the jar, something that involved him. As far as he knew, Kohaku and himself were the only two people who had that effect on her. He decided not to press her for details.

The monk clenched and unclenched his right fist when he thought she was not looking; it felt like it was not part of his body, an alien thing sutured to his flesh. Ironically, it was precisely the lack of feeling which made it unbearable.

_No better than the constant pain of the shouki wounds._

She noticed.

"Is everything alright, Houshi-sama?" Panic-stricken, he followed the direction of her gaze to his gloved hand.

"Yes – of course."

_Please don't ask me. I can't tell you. Not now._

He should have known it was impossible to hide anything from her, especially not when it concerned his Kazaana.

_Thankfully she doesn't know about the shouki wounds._

"Your hand…"

His smile turned wry, the violet eyes suddenly gray. "Nothing different from usual, Sango." Miroku reached out his hand, the fingers outstretched.

Sango's body tensed but she realized he was touching her Hiraikotsu, running his fingertips over the smooth bone. His sleeve rode up and she blinked – for an instant, she thought she saw a reddish-raw wound on his arm, near the elbow – but then Miroku's arm dropped to his side, hiding his bare arm from sight.

"As good as new," he said lightly, avoiding her questioning eyes. Not to be deterred so easily, Sango scrutinized him, searching his guarded features for clues.

"You must be tired," Miroku murmured, breaking the awkward silence and moving to take the boomerang from her. "I'll take that – you should rest."

"It's fine," she said. "I'm not that tired." Sango looked over the smooth bone. "I need to put the leather bindings on anyway."

He followed after her, a wave of panic rising in his chest: he had not been able to feel the bone beneath his fingers initially. Raising his hand, the palm facing upward, Miroku examined the edges of the void, where the shouki wound was cut cruelly into the flesh and snaked all the way down his wrist.

_It's worse than I thought._

"Houshi-sama."

He looked up, a practiced smile leaping to his face – the hand was dropped to the side. Sango was staring at – through – him, wearing a strange expression.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong? Your hand – "

" – is fine," he interrupted a little too quickly: she narrowed her brown eyes in sudden suspicion. "Nothing to worry about."

Taking a chance, Miroku took her hand in his cursed one. She stiffened predictably; as he had guessed, her attention was diverted from his Kazaana.

"Nothing's wrong with me, Sango," he said earnestly, trying to squeeze her fingers. It took some time before the sluggish limb responded and he felt her warm, strong hand.

_Maybe if I say it enough times, I'll begin to believe it myself._

Hurt flashed in those eyes; she knew he was hiding something. Miroku immediately regretted his decision.

_Forgive me: even now, I can't tell you everything._

"Fine then." She pulled her hand out of his, marching away in long strides. The monk remained fixed to the ground, staring miserably after her retreating back.

"You didn't tell her?" Yakurou Dokusen had materialized at his elbow: after a pause, Miroku shook his head.

"I see," said the youkai gravely. "Noble of you: I thought you asked the hanyou to keep it quiet so you could tell her yourself."

"She doesn't need to know," replied the monk softly, watching Sango talking to Kagome. "She has enough to worry about."

"I trust you know what's best for your Sango, monk, but sooner or later, you have to tell her. It seems she cares about you as much as you do for her – it would be an insult to her to keep secrets to yourself – especially one this important." Yakurou Dokusen stared pointedly at the purple glove.

Miroku gazed into the grave features of the sage and finally nodded.

"I will – but not today."

The group were ready to leave; while he had been talking with Sango, they had said their goodbyes and packed their things. Kagome was waving at him, calling his name.

The monk bowed deeply. "Thank you, Yakurou Dokusen-sama."

The elderly youkai returned the bow, his demeanor grim. "Remember what I said: and good luck."

With a last smile, he rejoined his companions, Sango keeping her distance from him. Miroku noticed she constantly snuck glances at his cursed hand when she thought he was not looking.

_You don't need to know._

Fervently, desperately, Miroku hoped he could hold on until the day he could tell her.


End file.
